


Cabin

by DeutchRemy



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Between Seasons, Father and daughter, Found Family, Getting to Know Each Other, Season 1, cabin life, season 1.5, season2, tiny ficlets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:48:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeutchRemy/pseuds/DeutchRemy
Summary: Teeny tiny fluffy ficlets of Hopper and El during season 1.5.  In no particular order.  Very similar to my story Days but each chapter is very short and doesn’t really have a plot.  Some chapters may be minimalist with almost entirely dialogue.  Please read and review!!!
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper & Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

Poke. Poke poke. Something’s poking my hand.

I open my eyes.

“Hey, kid, whazza matter? Whatcha need?”

“Um...thirsty.”

“Okay, um, gimme a second.” I sit up and wipe the sleep from my eyes.

The kid stands there expectantly. I lift myself up from my cot and take her hand.

“Alright, c’mon.”

We walk into the kitchen. 

“You know, you don’t need my permission to get a glass of water.” I tell her gently as I pull her butterfly cup from the lowest shelf and fill it with tap water. “Or milk, or juice.”

I hand her the cup, which she takes with two hands, like a toddler. “Okay?”

She nods in understanding. “O-kay.”

I pat her head, the short hair soft beneath my fingers.

“Alright, now you drink that and get back to bed.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Kid, you gotta put a shirt on.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you about privacy, yeah?”

“But...you don’t wear shirt sometimes...”

Oh. Right. Okay. Now, I’ve already explained the difference between boys and girls to her but it doesn’t seem to have sunk in. 

I suppose if I’d spent the first twelve years of my life hidden away from society it would take more reinforcement than one biology lesson for me to understand why some things aren’t appropriate.

And I guess she has a point. My bosom is far larger than hers, which are barely past the budding stage at this point, yet I’ll walk around shirtless after showering. I can understand why she’d be confused.

Then I realize it’s only April. It’s chilly in the cabin. I can only think that she’s trying to emulate me. Should I be concerned or flattered that this little girl is walking around topless in front of me?

This wouldn’t be the first time she’s emulated me - most recently she’s decided she wants to read the newspaper at breakfast. She can’t read more than a few words, of course (we’re working on it) but whenever I finish a page I’ll hand it across the table to her and she’ll bury her nose in it.

It’s pretty damn cute.

But this - this is a bit of an issue. I personally don’t give a shit if she wants to walk around without a shirt, but what about the future? My goal is to eventually get her out of hiding and into a normal life, ideally even public school.

She can’t be taking her clothes off in the middle of her eighth grade classroom.

Not only would that result in some uncomfortable phone calls from the school counselor but it would forever stigmatize her as the “weird girl”. 

That’s not what I want for her.

But seeing the confused look on her face I decide I should meet her halfway. For now, at least.

“Okay, El,” I use her name to make sure I have her attention, “tell you what - you don’t have to wear a shirt around the cabin if you don’t want to, but once you’re able to see your friends and...Mike...you need to wear a shirt. At all times. Anytime you leave the cabin, no matter where you go, you gotta wear clothes. That means shirt, pants, underpants, and shoes. Okay?”

The girl nods. “Yes.”

I ruffle her curly hair. “Good. But for the love of god, kid, it’s freezing in here and you're gonna get hypothermia, so for the sake of not leaving me all alone in the world, put a shirt on, yeah?”


	3. Chapter 3

"Kid? El...I'm talking to you."

"Listening?" She phrases it in the form of a question, unsure if she's using the word correctly.

"What'd I just say?"

"Eat my peas."

"Yeah. So...you gonna eat 'em?"

The kid just stares at me, glances down at her plate, then looks back at me. She shrugs her shoulders.

"You don't know if you're gonna eat 'em?"

Another shrug. Then a shake.

"You're not gonna eat 'em?"

"...No." 

"Why not?"

She looks like she's thinking, then "I don't like."

"Well they're good for you."

"Oh."

"So...?"

"So...?" She echoes.

"So, when a food is good for a person it means they're supposed to eat it. Especially when their fath-“ I catch myself, “When their caregiver tells them to.”

The kid is playing dumb. We’ve had this discussion at least once a week for four months now, and each time she acts like the fact that vegetables are supposed to be eaten is news to her.

“But…I don’t like.” She’s starting to whine now and is looking at me with pouty eyes; she knows by now that she can manipulate me.

“Look, kid, I don’t like them much, either, but I know that they’re good for me so I eat ‘em.”

“Not good.”

“Yes good.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Jesus Christ this child is stubborn. I think I know where she gets it from. Just goes to show that nurture is just as important as nature.

Time for me to put my foot down.

“I’m not gonna argue with you, El.” Gentle yet firm. Kid needs to know that I’m the boss but that I’m not mad at her. “You need to eat the peas.” Or…? “Or no Eggos tonight.”

Her eyes go wide and she picks up her fork, shoveling the little green pellets into her mouth as quickly as she can, grimacing the whole time.


	4. Chapter 4

“Lucas.”

“What was that, kid?”

“Lucas.”

“Lucas?...You mean Lucas Sinclair? Mike’s friend?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah? What about him?”

“What’s...wrong? With him?”

“Whaddya mean? There’s something wrong? Did you visit him in your head? Is he hurt or something?”

“No. Brown.”

“Brown?” It clicks, then. “Ohhh you mean he’s black.”

“Not black. Brown.”

“Well yeah, technically his skin is the color brown but we typically refer to African Americans as black.”

“Af-Afri-African Am-eri-cans?”

“Yeah, black people.”

“But not black. Brown.”

“Kiddo, I just told you we call them black even though their skin is brown.”

“Okay. But why is skin brown?”

“Because they’re a different race than we are.”

“Race? Like running race?”

“No not that kind of race. See, sometimes a word can have more than one meaning. In this case the word race means...uh...” Okay, how am I gonna define this word without seeming like an idiot? “Um, a group of people who look different than us because they come from another part of the world.” Not too bad, Hop.

“So...Lucas is...not from here.” It’s less of a question, more of a statement.

“Well no, he was born in Hawkins, I’m pretty sure.”

“But...different race.”

“Yeah but that just means his ancestors came from a different place.”

“Ances-cestors?”

I rub my beard. I need to stop opening up new cans of worms if I ever hope to finish reading the paper.

“Yeah, people who come before us, the people who made us. Parents, grandparents, great-grandparents.”

“What’s grandparent?”

“Your parent’s parent.” She looks confused. Crap, did I just break the kid? “So you have a mother, yeah?” She nods but then frowns.

“Gone.”

“Yeah, she’s gone, honey.” I reach out a hand to ruffle her hair. “So your mother made you with your father -“

“Papa.”

I’m not sure how to respond to this since I’m fairly certain Brenner isn’t the kid’s biological father...

I scratch my chin.

“Um, yeah, your Papa. She made you with your Papa. But your mama and your Papa each have their own mamas and papas. They’re your grandparents. And your grandparents have their own parents. Those are your great-grandparents.”

“So...Lucas born in Hawkins but his parents born in...other place in the world?”

“Well no, I’m pretty sure his dad is from Indianapolis or something and his mom was born here in Hawkins, just like Lucas.”

She’s looking confused again.

“But further down the line, Lucas’ great-great-great grandparents were originally from a place called Africa.”

“Af-ri-ca?”

“Yeah. It’s on the other side of the world.”

“And...people are brown?”

“Yeah, they have brown skin. Well, most of them do, anyway. And they have curly hair.”

“But...I have curly hair...am I...from Af-Africa?”

I can’t hold my chuckle in.

“No, kid, you’re not from Africa. You’re like me, you’re white. White people have different types of hair. Some have straight hair and some have curly hair like you.”

“Oh. So nothing wrong with Lucas?”

“No no, Lucas is fine. His ancestors are just from a different place is all.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now why don’t you go watch some tv for a bit?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Happy birthday, kid.”

“Happy...birth-birthday?”

“Yeah, it’s a celebration of the day you were born. C’mon, I got cake and ice cream.”

“What is born?”

“Um, when you’re born is when you came out of your mother and into the world, kid.”

“I came out of my mother?”

“Yeah, it’s called giving birth.”

She looks at me, a blank expression on her face. Oh god. She doesn’t understand. What have I gotten myself into? Maybe I can sidestep this inevitable conversation.

“C’mon, let’s have cake and ice cream.”

She follows me into the kitchen and sits at the table.

“I...came out of my mother?” She repeats, frowning in confusion.

Okay. I’m not gonna be able to sidestep this. How can I address this as delicately as possible?

“Yeah, you did. Just like I came out of my mother, and Will and Jonathan came out of their mother, and Mike and Nancy came out of their mother. Remember how I told you that women and men make babies together? Well, after they make the baby the baby grows inside the woman for nine months and then it comes out and the mom and dad take care of it.”

“Papa.”

“Yeah, your papa took care of you after you came out of your mama. Anyway, parents always remember what day the baby came out of the mama, because it’s a very special day. So every year on that day they celebrate it with cake and ice cream. And presents. Which reminds me...”

I pull two packages from the top of the fridge, both wrapped in balloon-covered wrapping paper.

“These are for you.”

The poor thing looks even more confused than before as she studies the boxes, and I realize then that she’s never received presents before. I’ve given her plenty of stuff - toys, books, pajamas, etc - but hadn’t wrapped any of them.

Gifts are truly foreign to her and it breaks my heart.

“Like this, honey.” I say softly as I slide my index finger under the edge of the paper. I pull up, removing a strip of wrapping. “There you go. Now you finish. Here, just grab the paper I already ripped and tear it some more. Atta girl, you got it.”

There’s still a look of confusion on her face as the paper begins to fall away, revealing a small stack of brand new, shrink-wrapped books.

Once she realizes what they are, though, she smiles and points to the hollow between her collarbone.

“Me?” She asks quietly.

“Of course they’re for you, kid! It’s your birthday!”

The smile widens. “Thank you.” She gives me a shy hug. To be fair she’s hugged me after every gift I’ve given her, but this time feels different. This is truly special. For her and for me.

“Let’s check out these books, huh?” I ask when she finally breaks the hug. She nods enthusiastically. “Let’s see, we got a couple picture books and some chapter books here. We got Ramona Quimby, Age 8. This one’s a little advanced so I’m thinking I can read it to you when we’re done with Anne. Here’s Indian In The Cupboard - that’s another one I’ll read to you. And The Borrowers. A Wrinkle In Time. And here’s a couple you can try reading - Frog and Toad and The Caboose Who Got Loose.”

“Read now?” She asks hopefully.

“Slow down, kid, there’s still another present to open.”

“Oh.”

“Here, I’ll start this one for you, too.”

I start the job and she finishes it; emerging with a long, thin cardboard box.

“Open the box, kid.”

She removes the lid to reveal a pair of folded up pajamas, long-sleeved with tiny pink flowers on them.

She smiles big as she feels the material.

“Pretty.”

“You think so?”

She nods enthusiastically, the grin still plastered on her face. “Yes.”

“Good. I think it’s pretty, too.”

“I wear now?”

“Well they should be washed first, kid, but I guess you can wear them now if you want.”

She grabs the pajamas and runs off to her bedroom to change. I take the opportunity to clear the table of the wrapping paper scraps, pull the store-bought cake from the fridge and stick thirteen candles into it, and plop two scoops of vanilla ice cream on each plate.

When she emerges, looking pretty in her new pajamas, the candles are lit and she’s looking at them in wonder.

“Thirteen candles, kid. One for each year of your life.”

She reaches out for one and I quickly grab her hand.

“Nonono! We don’t touch, they’re hot; they’ll burn you.”

“Oh.”

“What you gotta do is make a wish, a secret wish that you can’t tell me, and then blow all of the candles out. Think you can do that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, go for it. Think about your wish and then make it.”

She thinks for about thirty seconds then looks up at me.

“Did you make the wish?”

She nods.

“Okay, now blow out the candles. Do like me, yeah, bend down towards them, but not too close, and blow really hard with your breath until the candles go out.”

She tries her hardest but can’t seem to get them all out despite multiple tries, so I bend down and help her finish the last of them before she’s tempted to use her powers.

We’ve discussed the use of her powers and how I’d rather she not use them if she doesn’t have to; the fact that her nose bleeds every time she uses them indicates that she’s causing herself harm, and I’d rather she not hurt herself.

“Alright, kid, now we cut the cake and eat it! Sound good?”

“And read?”

“Sure, we can read one of your new books while we eat cake and ice cream. Pick out the book you wanna read while I cut the cake, alright?”

“Okay.”

I cut two big slabs of chocolate cake and put them on the plates next to the ice cream, then carry both plates into the living room where El is waiting. I hand her a plate and she hands me a book.

“A Wrinkle In Time. Good choice, kid.”

I balance the plate on my lap and shovel cake into my mouth while holding the book open with one hand. Not bad for store-bought. The kid seems to agree, because she’s already done with her slice and moving onto the ice cream by the time I’ve had three mouthfuls. Christ, this girl knows how to pack it away.

When she’s finished she sets her plate on the coffee table and curls up under the afghan we keep on the back of the couch. As soon as I finish my own plate she scooches over and leans her head on my shoulder.

I’m not sure what time she fell asleep, but halfway into the chapter I glance down and notice her eyes are closed and her breath is slow and even. 

So I dog-ear the page, close the book, and give the kid a kiss on her forehead before whispering:

“Happy birthday, El.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it’s been a while since I last updated. I’m currently working on like five different chapters for five different stories and have severe writer’s block. This is just a tiny little thing I whipped up in ten minutes in an attempt to lighten things up during this coronavirus scare (my city is projected to become the next Italy...)
> 
> Anyway, this story jumps ahead a bit to after the gate.

“When can we go home?”

“Home? Kid, I want to go home, too, but it’s only been two days. I haven’t installed the new windows and I don’t want you traveling yet.”

“But I have to go.” The girl pouts.

“Go?”

“Yes, go!”

“Go where?”

“Bathroom!” She’s getting frustrated.

“You can go to the bathroom here.”

“But I have to...GO go.”

“You mean you have to poop? Kid, are you telling me you’ve been holding it in for two days?”

“Yes.”

“El, when you gotta go you gotta go. You’ve been peeing here so I don’t see what’s different about pooping.”

“It’s...different.”

“No, it’s not. And I’m not gonna drive us all the way to the cabin just so you can poop, because the windows aren’t installed yet so we’d just have to drive all the way back here right after.”

“I don’t want to go here.”

“Well you gotta. I’ve been pooping here, and if Joyce has no problem with me pooping here then she certainly won’t have a problem with you pooping here. No pouting at me, kid.”

“But...I don’t want to...”

“I heard you the first time, El. Now go into the bathroom, and I don’t want you coming back out until you’ve pooped, okay?”

“Not our toilet...”

“That’s true, it’s Joyce’s toilet, but as guests in her house we’re allowed to use it.”

“For pee.”

“And poop. 

“No. Pee only.” She’s glaring at me.

“How about we ask Joyce for permission?”

“No!”

“Kid, Joyce is a mother, that means she’s used to lots of poop, and not just any poop, but boy poop, which is much worse than girl poop. Now go in there and don’t come back out until you’ve pooped.”

“Then I won’t come back out.”

“Okay, Jesus Christ, we’ll go to the cabin! I suppose I could grab Mr. Bear and a couple pairs of pajamas for you while we’re there...go get in the truck.”

Christ, the things I do for this kid...


	7. Chapter 7

“Here you go, kid.” I set the steaming mug of cocoa in front of the girl with the curly hair and the worried eyes. “Careful, though, it’s hot. Don’t burn your tongue.”

The child glances at me, then down at the mug before cupping both hands around it and trying to take a sip. A tiny drop touches her upper lip before she realizes it is indeed quite hot. She sets it down on the table.

I set my own mug down and take my seat across from her.

“Wanna talk about it?” I mumble.

She shakes her head.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to. But I’m always here if you want to talk. About anything. Doesn’t just have to be bad dreams. Understand?”

“yes.” 

We sit in silence for a few minutes, El ignoring her cooling-off cocoa and stifling her yawns.

I can’t ignore the look on the girl’s face. She’s had nightmares before, yes, even ones that have caused her to wet her bed, but this one…this one was something else. I’d never heard anybody scream like that. She looks exhausted and pale and like she’s only just concealing her terror. Is she sick?

“You’re not sick, are you, kid?” I reach across the table and cup her forehead with my palm. “Nah, you feel normal. Maybe I should take your temperature just in case…”

My chair scrapes against the floor as I move to stand, and I almost don’t hear her quiet “monster.”

“What?”

“monster.”

I sit back down. “Okay. Is that what your dream was about?”

El nods her head quickly, not looking up from the table.

I rub my beard. “Yeah? Do you wanna talk about the monster?”

She shrugs. Her lower lip quivers.

“It’s okay, punkin’. We don’t have to talk about it, remember? But you might feel better if you do.”

She hesitates and then “um…big. big monster.”

“The, uh, demo-something that the boys were yammering on about?”

“bigger. very big.”

“Okay.” I rub my beard some more, trying to absorb what the child is saying. “Okay. But you know it was only a dream, right? It can’t hurt you.” More than anything, given the crazy shit we both saw last year, I hope I’m telling her the truth.

“scared.” She says in a tiny voice.

“I know, punkin’. Bad dreams can be very scary. But you know I’m always here, right? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Not even the biggest monster of them all will be able to get you as long as I’m here, because I’ll shoot that sucker.”

El doesn’t look reassured, though. A tear finally rolls down her cheek. It lands in her untouched cocoa.

We sit in silence for five minutes, me finishing off my mug and El trying not to nod off in hers.

“Whaddya say, kid? Ready to go back to bed?” I know what the answer will be but figure I should try anyway.

She shakes her head.

“That’s okay. You know I’m not really that sleepy myself, to be honest.” Actually I’m dog-tired, but I’m not about to let her know that. I put my mug in the sink and head over to the couch. “C’mon, let’s find some old movie to watch. Maybe something with John Wayne, hmm?”

El abandons her full mug at the table and comes over to sit next to me. She’s stiff as a board.

I turn on the TV and begin to flip channels with one hand and rub circles into the girl’s back with the other. If only she would just relax. 

That doesn’t happen until I put the remote down on the couch cushion and grab the kid under her armpits, pulling her over and onto my lap. She immediately lays her head on my shoulder and hooks the index and middle fingers of her right hand in the collar of my nightshirt. Once she’s situated she relaxes entirely, practically melting into me. I reach for the remote again.

“Alright, now we’re all set." I wrap my arm around her and pat her hip. "Let’s find some John Wayne.”


	8. Chapter 8

“El? You’re just picking at your food. What’s the matter?”

“not hungry.”

“Why aren’t you hungry? You’re not sick, are you?” I reach across the table and touch the girl’s forehead then cheek. Both feel normal.

“no. just not.”

“Do too much snacking before dinner?”

“no.”

“Then why no appetite?”

“what is...appetite?”

“How hungry you are. Or aren’t. If you’re not hungry it means you have no appetite. Now you usually have a very good appetite so that’s why I’m concerned.”

“don’t know.” She shrugs.

I suddenly recall the box of Eggos I spotted in the trash as I hung up my coat.

“I saw a box of Eggos in the trash. Shouldn’t there be one left in there? For your dessert tonight? What happened there?”

“ate it.”

“Kid, you know dessert comes after dinner, right?”

“yes.”

“Well did you eat your dinner yet?”

The girl shakes her head.

“So that’s usually a rule, okay? Dinner comes first, and then dessert.”

“why?”

I scratch my chin. “Because, uh…dessert is sort of a, uh, a treat. A reward for eating a healthy meal.” Granted our dinners aren’t exactly the healthiest - something I’m trying to work on - but they’re balanced. Protein and vegetables, although the latter I often have to bribe into her.

“was hungry.” She says sheepishly.

“I know. And I’m sorry. I was late tonight. How bout this? From now on if I’m not home by…5:45 -“

“five-four-five?”

“Yeah, five-four-five. If I’m not back by five-four-five, you go ahead and eat your dinner without me. That way you won’t ruin your appetite with Eggos. Okay?”

“but…like eating dinner with you.”

My heart clenches just a bit. “And I like eating dinner with you, too, kiddo, but sometimes I gotta work late and you can’t be eating your dessert before your dinner, okay? You’ll go ahead and eat your dinner, and then later when I eat mine you can eat your dessert. How’s that sound?”

She shrugs but doesn’t look thrilled. “okay.”

“Good girl. I’m still gonna try not to be late, though.”

“you want?” She pushes her tray towards me.

“I’d say yes if I knew you weren’t gonna be hungry later. We’ll put it in the fridge.”

“you eat this and i eat eggos.” She pushes it further towards me.

“So what you’re saying is that even if you’re hungry later you’ll just eat an extra Eggo?”

“yes.”

I sigh but smile in spite of myself. “For tonight only. This isn’t gonna become a habit, alright? You’re not gonna con your way into an extra Eggo every night.”

“okay.”

“Alright, hand it over, then.”

She pushes her tray all the way across the table and I dig in heartily.


	9. Chapter 9

“El?…El? Kid, what’s the matter?”

No response.

“El? I’m talking to ya, kid.”

She doesn’t even look at me, just keeps her nose buried in a picture book. I cross the threshold and sit on the coffee table in front of her, plucking the book from her hands.

“You can have this back once you’ve talked to me, okay? Now why you givin’ me the silent treatment, hmm?”

She shrugs her shoulders and looks down at her lap, refusing to make eye contact with me.

“You mad about something?”

She says nothing, tucking her legs underneath her defensively. Yeah, she’s mad. That’s her mad pose.

“You know that if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you I’m gonna have to tickle that foot, right?” That usually gets a rise out of her. Tonight, nothing. “El.” I say, sternness creeping into my voice.

The girl pulls her legs out from underneath her and stands up, padding her bare feet into her bedroom and shutting the door most of the way.

What in the hell? Has she been watching too many soap operas or something?

I knock politely before pushing the door open. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, fiddling with her teddy bear’s plastic eye.

“Kid, you gotta talk to me, okay? I don’t know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, so I don’t know how to help you. Now why’re you mad?”

The kid stares straight forward, scowling at the floor, but finally opens her mouth.

“didn’t say bye.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“didn’t say bye.”

“I know, I heard you the first time, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“left this morning. didn’t say bye.”

She thinks I left for work this morning without saying goodbye to her. Well that’s just plain not true.

“El, I did say goodbye -“

“didn’t.”

“- let me finish. I did say goodbye this morning but you just don’t remember it because you were totally zonked. I woke you up just like every morning but you were too tired from staying up late last night to remember it. You insisted that we finish the book last night, remember?”

Nod.

“And I said no but you begged and begged.”

Nod.

“So we were up past midnight and this morning you were a zombie. I woke you up and you just groaned and rolled away from me.”

“oh…”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just remember that I’d never leave without saying goodbye.”


	10. Chapter 10

Dear Lord. Why did I introduce rubber hairbands into this house? I thought El would have fun tying up her hair with them, now that it’s growing out and getting some length. And she did. Until she discovered she could put them in my hair, too.

So here I am on the couch, reading aloud to her from Little Women, my head covered in a rainbow of colored elastics. I wince as she ties one a bit too tight and it feels like the hair is going to rip out of my scalp.

“Ouch, that one hurts, kid, you gotta redo it.”

She says nothing but removes the offending tie and slides it onto her wrist for easy access as she begins to re-bunch that bit of hair, more gently this time.

She has at least ten more bands around that wrist, each of them waiting their turn to be cinched onto my head. There’s not a single one in her own hair - clearly making me look ridiculous is far more appealing to her.

She’s alternating between kneeling next to me on the couch and standing behind it in order to ensure proper placement of the torture devices.

It takes over an hour, but she’s finally satisfied with her work. She runs off to the bathroom and returns with a small handheld mirror, which she holds up in front of me.

I look absolutely goofy. My hair sticking up in all directions, like a bunch of little trees all over my globe.

“Good job, kid. You all done?” I ask as she climbs back onto the couch and settles at my side.

“Um-hmm.” 

This is one of her quiet days. Sure, she’s far from loquacious, but she’ll have days, weeks even, where she’s like a babbling toddler, followed by a few days where she’s almost as quiet as a monk who’s taken a vow of silence. At first I was concerned that maybe she was depressed, but she doesn’t seem sad or withdrawn, just like she’s…run out of stuff to say. And that’s fine. Her vocabulary is growing, but still limited.

She tucks her feet underneath her and leans against me, her cheek pressed against my upper arm. She sticks her left thumb in her mouth and sighs deeply through her nose.

“Heyyyy…if you’re planning on falling asleep we need to move to your bedroom.”

There’s silence for a moment and then,

“no.” she mumbles around her thumb.

“No what? No you’re not gonna fall asleep or no you don’t want to go to your room?”

“…first one.”

“You’re not gonna fall asleep, hmm?”

My flannel makes a rustling noise as she shakes her head against it.

“You sure about that?”

“won’t fall asleep.”

“Promise?”

“yes. promise.”

Well that was a big fat lie. Not ten minutes later the kid is out like a light, heavy against my side, drooling on my shirt. I should have done the dad thing and insisted she get into bed or else there would be no reading tonight. But not only do I have a hard time being stern with El, but it’s not easy appearing to be in charge when you have fifty hairbands stuck to your head.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I updated anything! I've been fiddling around with the possibility of writing a historical novella and ST sort of got put on the backburner.

“Bedtime.”

She just looks at me, then moves her eyes back to the TV set I just turned off. It flicks back on.

“Uh uh uh, no.” I say, picking the remote back up and turning the set off again. “It’s bedtime.”

“not tired.”

“I don’t care that you’re not tired, it’s still bedtime.”

“why?”

“Because I’m your fa-“ I catch myself. “Because I’m taking care of you and know what’s good for you.”

“tee-vee is good.”

“Only if you want your brain to turn to mush.” It doesn’t occur to me until the words are already out that maybe I shouldn’t say that, considering the state her mother is in. Then I remember that she’s currently under the impression that her mother is dead, also thanks to my big mouth, and I feel a bit less guilty.

“mush is…bad?”

“Yeah, kid, mush is real bad. You’ll probably lose your powers if your brain turns to mush.”

She furrows her brow, thinking hard, then says “maybe…maybe good.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“if no powers, bad men won’t look for me.”

The cat’s got my tongue. I honestly have no idea how to respond to that, so instead I take her small hand in mine and manage to sputter out “Look, let’s just…finish off Little Women tonight, yeah?”


End file.
